Alone in my own house, while the virus surges through the country, my mind wanders to dark places.

Will my father’s care community become a hotspot? What if the economy goes so far south our family loses everything? What If one of us has to die alone? What if, what if, what if?

This pandemic thing is a brand new experience for all of us.  And yet…

Do some of you caregivers feel it has a certain déjà vu quality to it?

It does for me.

I recognize the anxiety that sneaks up on me daily. It was the same emotional overwhelm I felt when my husband and I suddenly found ourselves in the caregiver role.

I also recognize my disorientation caused by the rapid disintegration of things I’ve long taken for granted. Daily routines. Dinners out. Sleep schedules. Faith in my own invincibility and immortality.

This time, it was brought on by the first shelter-in-place order.  

Back then, it was triggered by my father-in-law’s fainting spell and a call from his doctor saying we were now in charge of his life.

Lots of uncertainty and lack of knowledge. Lots of waiting and wondering, What’s next?

It is so familiar.

Back in my intense caregiver days, my anxiety peaked during one specific week in December 2017. It was the week that both my mother and my job started actively dying.

It was when I fully grasped that life as I knew it was ending.

My realization was immediate and shattering.

Yet the winding down seemed endless. My mother stayed in a “deep sleep” for seven days before she drew her last breath. My job lasted another nine months.  

I’m not sure which was worse: the knowing or the waiting.

Because while waiting, I couldn’t imagine life after the two inevitable losses I saw coming my way. I wasn’t suicidal.  It was just that, my mother and my work defined so much of who I was as a person.  My mother was with me from my first breath. And my job had occupied most of my waking hours for over 20 years.

Who would I be without them?

I had no idea how to tolerate the inching toward the heartbreak I now saw on the horizon.

“When I’m afraid of something, I come up as close to it as possible, and notice my resistance.” Ram Dass, Walking Each Other Home.

My first glimmer of relief came in an online class created by life coach Martha Beck titled “The Storm-Proofing Kit.”  It was a Christmas gift from my husband. I eagerly started the first module, hoping for her best advice on how to get rid of the fear and grief that had become my constant companions.  

Her answer?

Stop trying. 

Drop your resistance to these feelings, to the heartbreak, to whatever you think the future will bring.

This seemed easier said than done, but her technique was simple, using my breath and mantras.

Breathe in: I allow whatever is to be.

Breath out: I surrender my resistance to whatever is.

Breathe in: I allow that my mother may be dying.

Breathe out: I surrender my resistance to my work situation.

Breathe in: I allow that I can’t imagine life after this.

Breathe out: I surrender my resistance to my fear for my job future.

As I practiced this technique, my mind conjured an image of myself hunkered against a gale force wind. As I said the mantras, I released my resistance.  I lifted my chin. My posture straightened and opened. My arms unfolded and dropped from my chest. My hands unclenched.

I leaned forward into the storm. Instead of knocking me down, the wind held me upright.

My body started to let go of tension. My shoulders dropped. My jaw loosened. The tight, heavy knot in my chest started to soften, then unravel and move.   

I felt myself expand, putting a buffer of space around the shifting feelings. I could find a quiet spot of ease and observed the feelings without interfering.

It took about five minutes, but I completely relaxed.  It was the best I had felt in months.

The relief was short lived. Before long, another frightening situation put me back in emotional rapids.

But I learned to use this little technique everywhere to take the edge off my intense emotions. In the elevator on the way to my mother’s hospital floor. Right before a contentious work meeting. When the phone rang at an unpredictable time.

Bit by bit, I gained confidence that I could manage in the presence of the difficult sensations like fear and grief. I knew how to find stability when the earth shifted below my feet.

The act of holding space brings warmth to freezing. It thaws the heart and softens the harsh and violent edge of fear.  Amy Wright Glenn, “Holding Space.”

In my end-of-life doula training, I learned about holding space for dying patients and their families. Chaplain and doula Amy Wright Glenn describes the practice as creating a “circle of care” around an individual where they can find their own way through their fear and grief. In the clearing of emotional space, they have room to maneuver, to manage the flow of their own inner experience.

Doulas don’t fix. We don’t judge. We just sit on the edge of the clearing, bearing witness and holding hands by request only.

We learn this practice by facing our own demons.  As Glenn points out,” we can only do this well for others if we can do this for ourselves.”

In this time of the coronavirus, I believe we all can and need to learn to hold space for ourselves. it is a key life skill for the new normal.

For me, Martha Beck’s simple strategy is the easiest way I know to hold space for myself and others. It taught me to create my own space to sit with whatever difficult feelings emerged. In that space, I learned my darkest emotions are not permanent. They aren’t me. Like everything else in life, they change and shift and diffuse.

The same is true about your emotions.

Don’t try to fix your emotions. Don’t ignore them. Learn to sit on the outskirts, in a place of stillness, and send them love. Let them move until you feel your body relax and open.

And when you learn to be quiet with your emotions, Beck suggests a second step. Ask them what they need right now. Don’t be surprised: they may give you the best advice for moving forward.

The exercise is simple, but the effects are profound. It just takes a little practice to remember to engage the mantras when the going gets tough.

And there’s no time like the present, right?

While you sit in your house, in the middle of the surge, and your mind wanders to dark places.